


when the war is over

by pigeonsatdawn



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nobody Dies, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, back at it again with the bittersweet shit, i love you so much, i'm so nice, journalist!Lauren again because i love the idea, lauren my poor child, my favorite ending, sorry i'm a shit writer but, you deserve happiness and so much more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn
Summary: when the war is over, what do we do then?(nobody dies in this one.)warning:mild depictions of PTSD, mentions of episode 43.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 17
Kudos: 52





	when the war is over

**Author's Note:**

> it’s definitely not an uncommon trope in any way, but i saw the prompt in instagram and head went nyoom. i don’t know why this is so long, and sorry because it's not reread as always. and before you come at me, yes, i know i’m a lazy writer, stating explicitly the things that are happening instead of describing them, because _i have other things to write i just like this idea idek whatever take this or leaVE_

**_“They’re waiting for us.”_ **

_“Way to state the obvious,” Lauren muttered, fully aware that Kieran was saying that to stall for time. Time. In time, everything will be over. In a few seconds, they would walk through those doors, faced the enemy they’ve been hunting, since the night of the deal they made on the bridge, since before then, since the long, lonely nights of their youth, chasing, chasing, hunting, the one who stood atop the pile of corpses, the one who brought the havoc in their lives, the one who orchestrated everything to begin with, a decade ago. Chasing, searching, hiding, running, spying, chasing, chasing. A seemingly endless game of cat and mouse, finally coming to an end. Nothing felt real, nothing could prepare them from the final showdown, the final act, the finale in which one party would face their demise._

_It could very well be theirs, after all._

_Death had never felt more tangible._

They’re waiting for us. We don’t even have to come in there if we don’t want to. We’re walking straight to our deaths. They’re expecting it. We can—we can hide. We can run. Turn back, live a life without worrying about them. _They’d found_ each other _, after all—they could—_

 _“You ready?” Kieran tried to keep his voice firm, but the hand he extended was trembling; unnoticeable to anyone, but not to Lauren, she who had been by his side all this time, the long hours of reading through files for information, the nights where they run on rooftops to keep themselves hidden, the tender moments they slip up and reveal a sliver of themselves no one was meant to see. She knew, she_ felt _, how he felt._

_They were one and the same, after all. Survivors, alive for revenge._

_And revenge was on their doorstep. It ends in one of two ways, but regardless—_

_Lauren nodded. She wasn’t ready, no. Not by far. She’d spent a decade finding the Leader, but she never would’ve imagined they would find him, and had never considered what she’d do once she found him. She always assumed she’d kill him. It was only right, after everything he’d done to her, the ruin he’d brought upon her life. She wasn’t sure_ how _, though. Perhaps Kieran was her answer to that, but he didn’t seem any more prepared than she was. A murderer all his life, yet he didn’t seem to be too enthused, gripping the hilt of his sword too weakly, his wrist twisted in an angle too awkward to_ kill _._

_Kieran knew she wasn’t ready. He was aware. But he couldn’t do anything, for he was one and the same. He nodded, and promptly turned his back on her, facing the door. There, their leader awaited. There, they’d face the final reality, their last battle, the highest mountain to overcome. There, their journey would end._

_And he knew this. Of course he did. “Lauren—”_

_It—like everything else—it all happened too fast. Lauren was still holding a gun in the hand she used to grab his arm. The other hand shot for the curve of his neck, pulling at the roots of his hair, closer, closer. Her mouth collided against him—and he had never been more ready than that moment, than to accept her in him, her against him, anything over the prospect of meeting their doom. He angled his face to fit hers, tongue slotting in her mouth, hot against her own. One hand grabbed half her face, the other gripped the curve of her waist, holding on tightly. Roughly._ Otherwise, he’d probably lose her. _And she, him._

 _Running. Running. Fingers holding onto anything; hair, skin, clothes. Teeth and claw sunk in, anchoring themselves in the other. Unable to let go._ Terrified _. His mouth won’t leave hers. She won’t let it. If they don’t breathe, maybe they won’t feel the time pass. Maybe they won’t have to come to terms with reality. Maybe it’ll all remain a frozen dream._

 _“Lauren,” Kieran moaned in haste, in desperation. They needed to stop. They needed to let go. They_ didn’t _want to. Words can speak, yet their bodies spoke for more._

 _Scared. Scared of the prospect of_ final _._

 _Lauren tasted the salt in her tears before she felt the moisture. She didn’t mind. She pushed against him, asked for more. She didn’t allow herself to say a word. No._ Stay _. No. I need you alive._

_“Lauren.” The second call, a sob. Hoarse. A countdown, a timer, to their end._

_She shook her head._ This doesn’t have to be our end _._

 _She made the mistake of pulling back, needing to breathe. Her eyes locked with his, and she saw the raw pain in the blue orbs, the orbs that haunted her dreams, blessed her nightmares. The ones she loved to hate, and hated to love—yet couldn’t stop herself from doing either. Once she wanted to stab them, to close them permanently, but now she needed it to gleam turquoise, to shine with_ life _, to convince her that there would be_ hope _._

_This shouldn’t be their end. When they finally confronted the leader, they had to remain alive. They’d come too far to quit now. They had to finish what they fought so long for._

_“Lauren.” Third. Final. A whisper, a whimper._

_Lauren squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch the pain in his eyes._ No _. They couldn’t be dwelling on their tragedy, not when they had a whole battle ahead of them. When she reopened them, her sorrow was replaced with determination. They_ had _to make it out alive. She’d will it, as she willed so many other realities._

_“We’re gonna make it,” she said. “You and I.”_

_“If we don’t—”_

_“We are. Together, from the very start.”_

_A tear streamed down the corner of his right eye. “If we don’t,” he reasserted himself, “know that—” He gulped. “Know that I—” He sniffed, wiping the tear off his cheeks. “I hope that at least you can be happy. I… thank you.”_

_“We’ll find happiness, both you and I,” Lauren said sternly, ever so stubborn. “So you have to make it out alive.”_

_Kieran smiled grimly, but he couldn’t utter the promise. Death was all too real for souls like him. She knew this. She knew, and yet, she hoped._

Her hope was not for naught.

* * *

** They made it out alive. **

There was blood. Lots of them. Their skin was covered in soot, and faces showered in smoke. Their hair was damp from sweat, mouths dry from the cold. Their limbs unhinged and muscles sore, bodies barely able to function like normal as they collapsed on a pile of rubble made of broken ceramic and shattered wood. But they made it out alive. 

Together.

Then again, no one died. They’d… come to a sort of pact. Lauren _had_ shot Dakan Rhysmel, but it wasn’t fatal, only a way to compromise his condition, so that he was powerless against them. He had been handed to the police, but it took them a while to make sure that they deal with the Leader himself accordingly, because the PS was indeed a formidable organization, and not even bars could stop a man with such power. Tristan Sinclair himself had arrived at the scene to deal with his old friend, professional even in the face of pain and betrayal. As a promise to Lauren—as her guardian, her last _family_ , and as someone who understood the utter loss she’d gone through—he promised that at the very least, these criminals would face the justice they deserve after all this time.

Lauren knew that included Kieran White, and… and she knew it was inevitable. He was the Purple Hyacinth, after all, and whatever he did for the city didn’t excuse what he’d done _to_ the city. His one good act would never absolve all his bad ones. She knew that, better than anyone. She still remembered the one night he broke her trust, that even when they’d begun to trust each other again, she could never unsee that side of him, the glaring reminder that this man had the potential and _had_ done such a vile deed.

But for now, they were the survivors of the war against evil. They’d won. They’d finished the war. Battered, broken, bruised, but victorious at last. Nights of infiltrations and rendezvous did not go to waste in the end. It had truly ended at last. The Phantom Scythe was gone, the Leader imprisoned, and they…

Lune was now free from the bond that bounded them in crime. 

“We did it,” Lauren exhaled at last. “We made it out. Alive.” She stared ahead, eyes unfocused at the sight upon her; a broken chapel, statues shattered on the ground, marble tiles lined with blood, wooden benches fractured by gunshots. Kieran’s sword glinted brightly, untainted for once. The only one whole.

Kieran pulled her to his side, his hand resting on her waist. He turned to her, kissing her forehead, not minding the wrecked state in which they were. 

“Together, until the end.”

* * *

** But it was not the end. **

In court, when they were testifying for their crimes, Lauren used her privilege as much as she could to appeal to the judges and juries, giving him a lighter sentence than he deserved. Lauren hated the man for all the crimes he’d done, but over the past weeks she’d also witnessed the way the Phantom Scythe shaped him, how he became the man… the _monster_ he was. And she couldn’t entirely blame him for turning that way. He hardly had a choice. He’d gone through just as much pain as he’d inflicted upon people. It wasn’t the best justification, but Lauren was desperate. She knew it was a heavily biased plea, but she wanted to try nonetheless.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she was so against watching Kieran White suffer more than he had to, when she’d wished pain upon him so much in the past. Perhaps, in time, she’d come to realize how similar they were—if she were in his place, she knew she’d do the same things, if not more. She understood him, and he understood her more than anyone. They were one and the same, always had been. Or perhaps, because of this, she was less lonely than she’d ever been, a decade alone, seeking for revenge. Finally, there was someone who _knew_ her, someone who _got_ it, someone who could help her with her restless sleep and endless guilt. Kieran imprisoned for a lifetime would only grant an equal suffering for her. She even considered surrendering herself to the same fate as him, if it would mean that—

—that they could be together.

Victims of the same pain, bound by the same coils. The final soldiers of the same battle; it was only right that they finish the same punishment together, the way they started.

But, just as they’d grown in completely different environments and had turned into completely different people, the judgment they received were also vastly influenced by their standings. Lauren’s unlawful acts as Lune were pardoned with ease, what with Tristan Sinclair being chief of police to begin with, and simply the clear distinction between her crimes placed adjacent to Kieran’s. Lauren got her title as an officer, subsequently her position in the APD, stripped off her indefinitely. That was still nothing compared to Kieran’s sentence, which was to be imprisoned in the Prison Tower for a good 15 years. They’d reduce the sentence from lifetime imprisonment because he _did_ bring about the end of the Phantom Scythe, and yet his crimes were uncountable, that they had to give him a punishment that fit the crime.

Lauren wasn’t so satisfied, but there was little she could do. She simply requested to her uncle that they reconsider his sentence if he showed good behavior in Prison: that was, if he seemed to have _really_ repented from his crimes, because Lauren _knew_ Kieran White would not choose to be a murderer if he didn’t have to—after all, it was _his_ decision to not kill the Leader to begin with. “We’ll wait and see,” was all her Uncle said about the request. 

She sighed. That was better than an outright no, at least.

When Kieran left the courtroom, Lauren knew that it would be the last time they met in a while. Even though she could always visit him, there were things she had to deal with first, and she knew it wouldn’t be so easy to muster up the courage to visit him. They had been drained in so many ways, including their own emotions. What they needed, for now, was time. 

Lauren couldn’t quite believe the reality yet. When she saw Kieran, clad in the prisoner outfit and hair tied quite too neatly, she nearly broke into tears again. “We made it,” was all she could say when she saw him.

Kieran smiled wryly. “We survived, and now we have to live on. For those who died for this.”

Lauren nodded, even though it took her some effort. She _didn’t_ want to agree, not when the life they had to live was like this. 

“Live for me, Lauren.”

Her features shifted into that of surprise. She supposed she shouldn’t be too much, not when it was clear that among the two of them, only one had the opportunity to truly _live_. “Be happy. Promise me that.”

“I promise.”

* * *

** Maybe it wasn’t a complete lie. **

Because Lauren no longer had a job, she’d been spending her days holed up in her house. It wasn’t like she had enough energy to go around places, anyway; the final battle against the Phantom Scythe members had taken so much energy in her that it took a while for her to replenish all that lost energy. Furthermore, since her desire for revenge had at last been quenched, she didn’t really have a drive to go on, so all she did was laze around, doing whatever the maids and her uncle was forcing her to do, which was mostly: sleep, eat, shower, repeat. She needed it, anyway; she’d lost so much sleep and food, in her pursuit of the truth.

Tristan made an effort to visit her in her rest, more than he already does. Sometimes it was overbearing, because she’d tell him she was fine, but he’d still worry over her. Mostly, though, she appreciated the sentiment. After all, he was the only family she had left. At one point, she’d consider Dakan family, but that had clearly changed after the backstabbing revelation that he was literally the Leader of the Phantom Scythe. If anything, it had made her even more grateful of Tristan’s presence. She knew that there were still things he hid from her, things regarding her parents, the royals, the Snapdragon, the Phantom Scythe—there was still much to know; defeating the Leader and destroying the Phantom Scythe itself was only one thing. But now, she couldn’t care less; she could deal with that knowledge later. One thing at a time. Now that they were not pressed for time, she could take all the time in the world to unpack the truths hidden to her for a decade. She’ll talk to Tristan to it when she was in the right mindset, but that wasn’t now. Now was time for her to rest. She deserved the rest, really.

One day, he came to her room, knocking in the gentle manner he always did. “Can I come in?”

“You always do, anyway,” Lauren joked lightly. The present seemed bleak, yet she tried to lift up the always somber mood of her room occasionally. _Try_. That was what they did best, anyway.

Tristan came in, shutting the door quietly. “Are you feeling better? You’ve been holed up for quite a while today.”

Lauren didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d been crying again. She nodded, giving a smile that looked bright to anyone, but anyone who knew her well could tell it was broken. “Just too tired to move around,” Lauren admitted. “I’ve been thinking a lot.”

Tristan nodded in understanding. Then, “I’ve also been thinking.”

“Hm?”

He glanced at the board to the side, the curtains covering the sides. The picture of Dylan Rosenthal shone under the sunlight bright as day, pinned smack center, strings connecting it to other documents regarding the decade old tragedy. “It’s… it’s about time you cleared that board,” Tristan said softly, face solemn.

Lauren tensed. Her fingers played with the hem of her nightgown, and she dwelled on what to say for a while. In her silence, Tristan continued, “It’s been a decade, and… and you know what happened at last. And you’ve faced it. You need to move on.”

She nodded, and began taking slow, hesitant steps to the board. “Yeah… I just—I just… feel like—I feel like if I take it down… it’d be like forgetting him. It’d be like… like ignoring him, and his death, you know? Which is… which is unfair because… he died… he died because of _me_.” Her voice cracked, and she was surprised to find that her eyes were growing teary again. She thought she was done with crying for the day. Apparently, there was still much to cry about. No wonder Tristan always looked concerned over her wellbeing.

Tristan smiled wryly. “Lauren, I know you’re still feeling guilty about his death. You’ve come to realize that even revenge doesn’t change that, and even though it’s quite overdue, you realize that at last, and that’s that,” he comforted. “You’re not the only one who’s gone through loss. You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

She was sure he was referring to her parents, that in some way, he had also been the reason behind their deaths. But she didn’t have the strength in her to be mad at anyone else. “The most you can do now, for him and for yourself, is to remember that moment in your heart—not on the walls of your room—and not repeat the same mistake. That’s the best thing you can do to remember him, to not let his death be in vain.”

 _Easier said than done_ , she wanted to argue, but she believed—if Tristan had felt the same way, and he was giving this advice, she wanted to believe it could be done, that it could be true. One day she’d ask him about it, but for now, she wanted to trust him. She wanted to live like… like a normal person for once, instead of doubting everyone for the possible sins they might’ve committed in the past. So she nodded genuinely, and gave her board one last look. She remembered each day she put up new information, screamed at the board when she found herself in a dead end, every time she threw a newspaper on it, every memory of the board. All her hard work, to the end, and now it was time to wrap it up.

“Will you help me take it down?” Lauren asked her uncle earnestly.

Tristan seemed pleasantly surprised at the request. “Of-of course,” he agreed.

Later that evening, Kym and William visited her in her mansion while she was out in her mother’s garden. She’d been basking in the warm glow of the sun before it set, and was delighted to see the sight of her two friends bickering with each other like they always did. Their pissed faces turned to huge smiles as they saw Lauren in all her elegance, home amongst the flowers. “Lauren!” Kym exclaimed. Truly, it had been a while since she’d heard such an excited squeal.

Lauren didn’t hesitate as she ran straight into her best friend’s arms. “Kym! Will!” she responded with such enthusiasm. “How’ve you guys been?”

“You know, just work,” Kym brushed off. “With a Sergeant like me who gets everything done on time, you never have to worry about work. Oh, we’ve missed you so much!” 

It brought genuine laughter from Lauren’s lips, even William seemed to be enjoying the rare sight. “You’re making it look as if you haven’t seen her in a year, or something. You saw her just two weeks ago.”

“Fourteen days is a long time,” Kym argued, smacking his chest. “He doesn’t show it, but he misses you just as much. He keeps going on and on, ‘Lauren this, Lauren that,’ whenever he’s stressed over something I said.”

“Because clearly Lauren’s a better friend _and_ coworker than you could ever be.”

Kym sneered and jabbed her elbow into William’s stomach, before jutting her head into Lauren’s direction. Lauren, though, wasn’t so hurt by the reminder.

“I’m not sad over it,” Lauren declared earnestly. “If anything… from my experience as Lune, I’ve come to learn that cops aren’t all that… that righteous, and that there are always other ways to do good from the world.” As she said that, she thought of two of the biggest influences in her life thus far: Dylan, who once wanted to be a doctor, and… and Kieran who, despite all the irrevocable crimes he’d done, ultimately done _something_ positive for the future of lots and _lots_ of the people of Ardhalis, for the generations to come.

When William and Kym gave her the proudest smiles she’d ever seen, she knew: she still had a family, even if they weren’t bound in blood. Perhaps it was as they said: there was birth in the wake of destruction, rise from ashes of ruin.

They spent the evening taking pictures together, dancing among the leaves and petals, talking and laughing about the good old days and making fun plans for the future—because for once, she could dream of one. For once, the future didn’t seem bleak. She returned to her room with a smile still sketched on her face, and a bunch of pictures with her new found family. 

She hung the pictures on the board, the one she’d cleared earlier that afternoon with her uncle.

She made a mental note to fill it with more pictures of the people around her, the people she loved and cared about. It came to her not a moment later: maybe there _was_ happiness, even for a broken soul as her. Maybe she could keep her promise to him, after all.

* * *

**_They were running, running, running._ **

_He nearly gave way on the bridge crossing from the south shore to the north, unable to keep up any more with her. Arrows protruded from his thigh and abdomen, and he was pulling them out one by one as he ran, away, away from the assassins. Lauren stopped every once in a while to check on Kieran, and when she saw him struggle, she grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him up with force. “C’mon,” she gritted, “we need to get to safety, quickly.”_

_“No shit, officer,” Kieran scowled, not in a particular mood to joke. She didn’t have time to dwell on how off it was for him to be more serious than aloof, instead repicking their pace, beginning to make haste to his apartment. When they finally arrived at his apartment, Kieran all but collapsed on his doorstep._

_“Oi, you can pass out inside. We don’t want people asking questions regarding a dead body now, do we?”_

_Kieran nodded groggily, clearly beginning to lose consciousness from the growing loss of blood. He pulled himself just enough to scoot through the front door, before passing out on the carpet._

_Lauren sighed. “And you said you don’t want blood all over your carpet.”_

_“You remember,” he said through his haze._

_She gulped, unable to speak. She looked for the first aid kit, hurrying to bandage his wounds. When she got back, Kieran was still on the floor in the same position, looking at her with a faraway stare._

_“Yes, I remember, Kieran,” she forced out. “Now will you get your ass on the couch, or do I have to deal with your bloodied body on the floor?”_

_She offered a shaky hand, and after a long pause, Kieran grabbed it, pulling himself upwards. He stumbled his way to the couch before plopping on it, throwing his head back with a heavy groan. Lauren settled herself next to him, beginning to take out the materials she needed to bandage him. She poured some disinfectant over the cotton while Kieran lifted his shirt, and after wiping the blood away, began dabbing on the open wounds. Kieran hissed every once in a while._

_“Turns out you can be—pretty gentle when you—need to—be,” Kieran commented._

_Lauren didn’t respond, focused on tending to him, so he continued: “Then again, expected coming from a high-classed noblewoman such as yourself. I was quite surprised when I saw you in the cafe that first day, when you dealt with that cheating scum. Never expected you to be so… blunt.”_

_“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make sure to let you know every honest thing I think about you,” she muttered, but there was no malice in her voice._

_Kieran snickered. “I don’t think there’s anything you can tell me that will surprise me anymore.”_

_“I don’t believe you’re a monster,” Lauren blurted before she could stop herself. Her hands froze in their tracks. She didn’t have to look at him to know he had frozen as well, practically able to feel the tension between them._

_He tried a chuckle, but it came out forced. “You know, just because I didn’t have your lie-detecting ability—”_

_“I don’t think you’re completely human either,” she added. Now, she took a look at him, and he seemed genuinely surprised._

_“So what am I, if not either?”_

_“A soul too broken,” she said softly, because that was the truth._

_Neither spoke a word as she finished tending to his wounds and wrapping them with the bandage, each caught up in their own thoughts. As Lauren tidied up the mess, Kieran asked in a whisper, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”_

_Lauren shrugged. “Whatever it’s supposed to mean.”_

_“Maybe you need some sleep,” he snorted._

_“Maybe I do,” she hummed, already feeling herself losing consciousness. She felt herself drop on the couch, her head falling onto his lap, on the thigh without the wounds from the arrows._

_The last thing she heard before she fell into the deep abyss of slumber was, “We’re a broken pair of souls, indeed.”_

As the nights before, she woke up crying.

Through the curtains, the moonlight shone brightly, landing on her picture board. She had been wondering why it still looked too empty, even though she’d filled it up with a lot more pictures with the people she cherished.

Of course. It was missing the one person who filled up a huge part of her life over the past few months.

She didn’t know whether she’d ever get a picture of him, let alone with him. She wanted to put something up there, though, something that she could see, so she could appreciate him—appreciate him for being one of the only people she ever felt… like _herself_ with. The one person who _knew_ her, down to the deepest, darkest side of her.

She headed to her desk to see if there was anything sign of him she kept. Among the pile of papers she’d long since touched was a drawing of her that he’d given to her, a few days before their final battle in the chapel. She looked much more beautiful than she could ever see herself.

It was only right that she crystallized her memory of him in the same way. She picked up her pencil and grabbed a clean sheet of paper.

She found that she couldn’t draw the artist himself.

* * *

** She didn’t have to draw him. **

Her memory of him remained fresh in her mind, haunting her every night. Whether it was her looking at the moon, or trying to get some sleep; whether it was from happy dreams or nightmares of the past, she found herself thinking of him and his various faces. His obnoxious smirks, his murderous faces, his genuine smiles, his cautious frowns. She’d grown to miss each and every side of his, whether she enjoyed them or not. 

She’d come to miss him.

But some nights, she was forced to watch Kieran die in her dreams. Some nights, he died again, and again, and again. Some nights, he sacrificed himself for her. Some nights, he died in her hands. 

Some nights, he died by her hands.

When she woke up she had to make sure that she wasn’t holding anything, that there really was no gun in her hand, in her room, no gun she could use to kill _anyone_ , but especially not him. She had to make sure there was no blood, no wound, not a single scar. It was easy to believe _she_ hadn’t done anything. It was hard, however, to believe that he was still alive, unharmed, because he—

Though he was so clear in her mind, so close to her heart, he was so, so far away from her in reality.

She was running, running before she knew it. Running straight to the tower. Running straight to where he was. Running under the moonlight like they used to do—except this time, she was alone. Instead of revenge, fear drove her. Instead of madness, she was crying tears of reminiscence. Instead of her officer uniform, she was dressed as no one but herself.

Lauren Sinclair. A nobody, a broken soul.

When she arrived, she fell on her knees, all but begging the officer to let her see him. She _had_ to make sure that he was there, alive. She had to see him. She had to see the _present_ version of him, not a twisted past replaying in her mind.

A pang of pain struck her heart when the officer told her that he wasn’t accepting any visitors—but she couldn’t even say she was surprised.

She knew this would happen. She knew, no matter how much they’d gone through together, that in the end, he’d close himself off her. For a while, or for much longer, she didn’t know. She knew he wanted time for himself, to be alone, to _think_. He’d said that much. But she _needed_ him. She needed—

She ran a hand through her hair frustratedly. She wanted to scream, and perhaps she could, because no one other than the officer was around to witness her pain. She didn’t, though. She asked instead, “Is he—is he alright?”

It took a while for the officer to respond: “Just about as well as yourself.”

That meant he was suffering as much as she was. This would’ve all been fine, if he didn’t deny her permission to see him. 

She didn’t even have to ask why before the officer said it for her: “Maybe there’s a reason he prevented you from seeing him.”

Because seeing each other in pain would only put them in more pain. Neither could do anything about it.

* * *

** Time passed like this. **

Life doesn’t wait for anyone, not even Lauren Sinclair, who it had brought upon so much pain to. Despite being born of wealth, it did her no good to just sit around and do nothing in the house. She pushed herself to look for a job, but she found nothing quite as fitting as being a cop, being righteous and using her lie detection ability for good. But of course, she could no longer take on such a vocation, not after the things she’d done against the law.

She was wandering around the precinct, looking for things to do and jobs she could potentially work, when she saw a young newsboy skipping around. Lauren slowed down her pace, stopping right as the boy was going to bump into her. “Hey there, buddy,” Lauren greeted with a wave. “What good news do you have to bring today?”

“Hi, Miss!” he beamed at her, and his youthful innocence briefly reminded her of an old friend. Lauren shook away the image in her head. “It’s been a year since the Phantom Scythe was eradicated! It was an amazing day for Ardhalis, would you like to read the story for ten cents?”

Lauren tried to ignore the way her heart felt like it was being stabbed by ten thousand needles. “Sure!” she said with a cheeky smile, taking out some coins to hand the little boy. “Quite an event, wasn’t that?”

“Indeed, Miss! We’ve been blessed by these superheroes. Ma said, without Lune, I wouldn’t even be alive today!” He accepted the coins and handed her the newspaper. Lauren glanced at the front page briefly; it was a picture of Lune, in the aftermath of the destruction of the chapel, along with a bunch of cuffed Phantom Scythe members. Not being able to withstand the sight of her old partner, she flipped the paper immediately. 

Just as she was about to leave, the newsboy quipped, “Erm, Miss? You look oddly familiar. Do I know you?”

Lauren shook her head, chuckling ever so slightly. “Well, other than today, I don’t think we’ve met before, so I don’t see how you’d know me.”

She felt guilty for lying, but it was better off for them not to know of her being Lune. Lune was… a necessity, but their time was over. Their world had been significantly lessened of crime, thanks to what they’d done. Now, though, she had to live as herself, as Lauren Sinclair.

At the time, she wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. She didn’t know a version of herself that wasn’t fueled by revenge, wasn’t aimed upon catching the bad guys. Now that it had been stripped off her, she’d have to find that side of her. In the past, it had seemed impossible. Now, she had all the time in the world to do it.

She’d discover herself, in time, as Lauren Sinclair. Free from Lune.

* * *

** That wasn’t to say, she didn’t learn from her past. **

She found herself working a job she’d never expected to have taken, but a job that resembled her personality all too well. Four years later, she was the editor-in-chief of La Vérité Inconnue, one of the top publishing companies in Ardhalis. Their journey to the top hadn’t been the easiest, and neither was Lauren’s personal journey. It took her a while to adjust her… research methods, all too used to interrogating criminals. She had to learn to remove bias in her articles, and had to try to write the truth as much as she could without having to depend on her ability—it only went so far as to confirm whether something was truth or lie, but it allowed her to further question the lies they spewed. She’d faced harsh criticism in the early days of her job, which allowed her to be a better journalist in the present. 

It wasn’t much of a surprise how she ended up working as one. Despite the fact that she’d finally attained the vengeance she’d sought for, she had always been a zealot for truth and angered upon lies. She’d also witnessed the effect of the press, something she didn’t dwell a lot on, and what they can do to a nation, which was her main motivator in being an impartial journalist. It was, other than being a cop, a job that satisfied her desire to make the world a better place to live in, and she had the newspapers stashed in her room to thank for that.

She didn’t go around chasing villains any more, but she did get to hunt down sources for the most recent news. After every successful interrogation, she felt the same thrill she did after every interrogation of Lune’s suspect. She rarely made the comparison nowadays, but on nights where the full moon shone brightly in the clear night sky, she allowed herself to reminisce upon the days of her suffering, the years where her life turned, eventually for the better. 

Sometimes, when she stared at the moon a little too long, she wondered whether he ever read an article she wrote. She wondered whether he would be proud of her. He was one of the first to show her the harsh truth, after all.

But she’d learned not to dwell on it for too long. There were people out there, genuinely appreciative of her work. There were people out there whose stories were finally heard, and there were people out there whose lives had turned for the better thanks to her and the people around her. That was more than she could ask for, now. Not only that, she’d begun to meet more people, under her uncle’s request. Not to date—he didn’t say that aloud, at least, but she knew he was hoping she would get a boyfriend one of these days—but as genuine friends. It took her awhile to be able to start trusting anyone again, especially after the amount of betrayal she’d faced first hand. It was an arduous process, but eventually she’d gain some friends other than William and Kym, who now had their own family and had to attend to their children.

It took time, but she finally found herself.

* * *

** She was still Lauren Sinclair. **

She was still the hot-headed woman, screaming at her subordinates to do their jobs well. She was still the understanding friend who tended to their problems. She was still the victim of tragedy, plagued by nightmares in her sleep.

She relived a scene that her brain procured, fragments of memory mashed and twisted to remind her of the past she couldn’t escape from. The Purple Hyacinth had his hand around her throat, choking the life out of her quite literally. She dropped to the floor of his cave, cold and wet, trembling weakly. She felt the life leave her slowly. And in her last few seconds, he dropped a hyacinth in a pool of blood that must be hers, but she wasn’t sure when she began bleeding.

He was staring at her in disdain. She didn’t know why, until he said, “You selfish hypocrite.” The sound echoed throughout the cave… the cave… and all around her head.

Lauren woke up screaming, throat hoarse as if she’d been choked in real life. She trashed against the blankets that were suffocating her, fighting to get out of bed as fast as possible. Running to the bathroom, she turned the tap on with force, splashing cold water on her face, hoping it’d calm her down.

It didn’t. The dream was vivid in her mind. Her neck felt like it was being constricted by a thousand snakes. She felt blood on her all too dry body. 

She cannot get the image of _him_ out of her mind.

“Ren, you ok—” Her partner, a photographer she’d worked with for a while now, asked groggily, but she had gone out, out, away from the house, running, _running_. Her mind was numb from emotion, but her body moved in autopilot, walking to places before she even recognized them. Her feet, high on memory, had brought her up on rooftops, running where they once ran, in nights of crime, in nights against monsters—like the one she’d _just_ dreamt about.

She almost fell off the ledge, halting only when she realized that. That even when she’d just been haunted by _him_ , by the monster that broke her trust in him, her first instinct was to retrace the steps they’d walked together. She dropped on her back, greeted by the cloudy, moonless expanse of night. Then, as if the sky took pity on her, it rained, acidic water slapping her face harshly, seeping through the thin fabric of her cardigan and nightgown.

 _When will you leave me alone?_ She wanted to scream, but didn’t have the voice to do so. She began to sob quietly, chest racking from the heavy breathing.

It was quiet, up on the rooftops. It was quiet, and in the silence her mind walked down the memories in which they sparred against each other and struggled with each other, head to head and back to back. Their stunts were always dangerous—

—and yet, she found herself staying on the rooftops, finding an odd solace in it. It was _theirs_ , a place no one else was quite daring enough to venture, only for the boldest of them. And they were truly a bold pair, indeed, invincible under the desire of revenge. 

She was still Lauren Sinclair, child of the night. But children grow up, and so should she. Lune was gone. The Purple Hyacinth was gone. 

She could only hope the Kieran White she knew was not.

* * *

** “20 cents! Read about the Allendale Train Station Tragedy, two decades old, only for 20 cents!”  **

Lauren Sinclair smiles at the sight, reveling in reminiscence for many reasons. She approaches the newsboy like she always does, already pulling out the payment. “I’ll have the paper,” she tells him sweetly, eyes crinkling into crescents.

“Thank— _waaaait_ ,” the newsboy halts, his eyes widening. “Aren’t you _the_ Lauren Sinclair? The one half of _the_ Lune that eradicated _the_ Phantom Scythe, now owner of _the_ La Vérité Inconnue?”

Lauren smirks softly. “Yes, I am _the_ Lauren Sinclair. And your name?”

“I—” taken aback, he coughs, clearing his throat. “I’m no one important. Man, Lucian Haynes is _so lucky_ to have been able to marry you. Oh man, you’ll probably have beautiful children.”

At this, Lauren laughs aloud. “Indeed he is. We probably won’t be having any children anytime soon, though. And also, I still want to know your name. Do you have to be anyone important just to be acknowledged?”

His eyes seem to shine brighter upon hearing that. “You’re as nice, if not nicer, as they say! I’m Rey Montgomery.”

“Hey, Rey! That’s a cute name.”

“And you’re so not funny,” the boy says, pouting. Lauren smiles wistfully upon the familiar sight. 

“Thank you, Rey, for the paper,” she says sincerely, and he salutes her before going off to sell more papers. Lauren turns to her side and pushes the cafe doors, greeted with the familiar scent of coffee and baked goods.

“Why am I not surprised,” the barista says in lieu of a greeting, putting on a deadpan face as she produces a cup of coffee.

Lauren snorts ever so gracefully. “If you are, then you _clearly_ haven’t learned.”

“I feel like at this point I’m entitled to the classified information behind why you come to this cafe on two specific days in a year,” June Whittaker says, putting a hand on her hip. “The other day’s retrospective of the day you defeated the Phantom Scythe, but what’s today?”

June places her usual order on the counter, already having prepared for her arrival. Lauren hands her the money before taking it with a grateful nod, smiling as she does. “Even little Rey out there would’ve known the answer to that,” she teases at her friend. 

The barista raises a brow, eyeing the newspaper in her other hand. “The Allendale tragedy? But that would technically be a few days ago. Why do you always come on this date, exactly?”

The doorbell rings, signalling the arrival of a customer. Lauren doesn’t turn around, but she notes the clicking of heels that came with the sound of the doorbell. She simply gives June a smirk, before heading to her usual table, near the windows, where the sun shines brightly through.

She unfolds the paper and reads the headline: **_THE ALLENDALE TRAIN STATION TRAGEDY AND ITS AFTERMATH_** _. Could’ve gone with a better title_ , she thinks, but shakes her head. As long as they’re telling the truth, she’ll be grateful for these writers. She appreciates every effort people are doing to spread the news. Even if it is old news, she finds it important that people know what happens in the past, in order to not repeat them in the future.

She makes a face upon the cheesy thought, but proceeds to read the article anyway. She reads to find that, as usual, these are facts that she already knows and have memorized in her heart, even with the passing time. For a while, she reads, but she begins to get distracted. If she’s to be honest with herself, she’s barely paying attention to the paper, using it more as a shield to hide her face from those who may be watching.

She proceeds to listen attentively to the couple on the other corner, talking about their lives. Lauren assumes it’s their first or second date; they’re discussing the similarities and differences, finding each truth amusing or relatable. She thinks it’s adorable and heartwarming that neither have said a single lie in their conversation. Oh, to witness pure love. She smiles to herself, pretending to flip the paper, even if she isn’t reading it. By the time her coffee has finished, she has so much information about the cute pair that she can probably predict how their children will be like, if they do end up having children together.

There’s a little twinge in her heart she can’t quite identify the source of, but she ignores it. She wants to be happy for the new couple without thinking of herself. 

She hears the doorbell ring again, followed by the sound of youthful laughter. Not long after, she stands up, deciding that she’s spent enough time reminiscing in the cafe. She walks to the exit and places a hand on the door handle—

“Are you not even going to _acknowledge_ my mere existence now?” Kieran White scoffs, still seated on his table, sipping on his coffee.

Lauren reluctantly turns to face him, only realizing now that his date is gone and he’s left alone with his coffee. _Way to be attentive, Lauren_ , she chastised herself. She gives him a sheepish smile. “Thought you were enjoying your life. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You didn’t notice she’d left?” He looks at her weirdly. “You were obviously watching us.”

“Was not!” Lauren argues sulkily. Kieran gives her a deadpan face. Lauren pouts. “I was _listening_ , not watching.”

He rolls his eyes, but smirks at her petty antics. “Take a seat, Lauren. It’s been a while.”

“Truly has been,” Lauren agrees, sighing in reminiscence as she sits across him. “How—how are you already out?”

“Straight to the chase, are you?” Kieran chuckles under his breath. “Well then. They decided to let me out early, about a month ago, for my good behavior; I was doing nothing in there besides reading books, anyway.”

“Books can be dangerous,” Lauren argues, because it’s in her nature. “Media, really, is dangerous.”

Kieran scoffs. “Says the journalist.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know, your name is literally _everywhere_ ,” Kieran informs. “And I’ve read your papers, too. Should’ve known you’d have a talent in writing, with your regular dramatism—”

“ _HEY—_ ”

“But I’m really impressed, and proud of how far you’ve come,” he says genuinely. The lack of lie in his statement pleases her more than it should, and she ducks her head, trying to hide her smile.

“Thank you,” she says bashfully.

Kieran scoffs again. “Now don’t get shy on me, Sinclair. Or should I say—”

“Don’t—”

“Mrs. Haynes?” Kieran has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and Lauren remembers all the times she wanted to slap his face, but had to restrain herself from doing so. “Honestly, given all your achievements against his, you clearly deserve so much better.”

Lauren snorts. “What, you mean someone who’s gone through hell and back like I did, like you?”

Kieran’s face shifts into a more solemn expression. “You know that’s not what I meant. You’re happy with him, and that’s what matters,”

Lauren smirks, but it comes out a bit sad. “I know what you mean,” she reassures him. “Perhaps, if anything, I like him more because he lives a simple life, much unlike us.”

“Definitely,” he agrees, nodding. “I’m glad you found him, genuinely.”

“Thank you. I’m glad I found him too.” Then she asks, “How about you? How’ve you been since you got out?”

He mirrors her wistful smirk from earlier. “Well, if you want me to be honest? It’s taking time to adjust to a normal life. I’ve always lived like… you know, that I never know how to live life without worrying about death.”

“Honestly, same,” Lauren chuckles. “Sometimes, I even go running on rooftops like the old days.” Kieran’s eyebrows shoot upwards, looking at her in utter disbelief and amusement, and Lauren laughs even louder. “I’m not kidding. Sometimes I think I’m crazy too. I just—it just feels so _normal_ to do that, you know?”

“I’d probably be sent back straight to prison if they catch me jumping on rooftops, so you won’t catch me doing that anytime soon,” Kieran says honestly, and Lauren laughs even louder because of that. “But I… I like this life. Living like a human, at last.”

“Free of pain,” Lauren muses.

Kieran nods. “Free of pain.”

Free of the pain that bounded the two. 

“I kept my promise,” Lauren says. “I lived a happy life.”

Kieran stares into her eyes, unable to properly react immediately. She supposes he’s trying to maintain his composure as much as she is. His lips twitch as he tries to smile, but his eyes gleam with so many memories of the past, a past they can’t seem to forget. A past they _shouldn’t_ forget. 

A past they don’t want to forget, anyway.

“We made it,” Kieran says, his voice a whisper. “We found happiness, you and I.”

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt, by the way, was “slowburn but they’re falling out of love” (there’s… barely falling out of love here it’s more like jump in straight from romantic love to platonic love lmao). it’s on a post about reverse tropes. i read it and i was like THIS IS LAUKI BITCH and immediately started writing. also i just realized i may have been passionate in writing this bc i’ve just recently watched **the guardians / lookout** , an AMAZING 2017 k-drama, and was inspired by the ending (or... the ending i wish the drama had 🤡) but also because it's a future i prefer over lauki dying.
> 
> why do i want them to not end up together? *pulls out top ten used quotes* "there is no such thing as a happy ending, only a happy middle" or something. (nah, not really. i think the fic answers that pretty well on its own.)
> 
> sorry for hitting you with another round of bittersweet shit. thanks for reading this random ass fic too! ❤️


End file.
